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Charlie Tanner 1904-1982https://shadflyguy.com/2018/02/09/charlie-tanner-1904-1982/
https://shadflyguy.com/2018/02/09/charlie-tanner-1904-1982/#respondFri, 09 Feb 2018 22:44:00 +0000http://shadflyguy.com/?p=1682Continue reading →]]>There are certain folk artists who’s work is so personalized, and exhibits such a distinct style, that once seen, you can recognize the work from across a room. Charlie Tanner is just such an artist. I loved his work the first time I laid eyes on it, and he has been one of my favourite folk artists ever since.

In Chris Huntington’s excellent essay published in the booklet that accompanied the 1984 retrospective of his work at the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia, he writes

“Stonehurst is a small fishing village that located itself about 200 years ago amidst the barren, rocky, coastal out-reaches about ten miles south of Lunenburg. Stonehurst is that much closer to the inshore fishing grounds so that, in spite of it’s inhospitable geology, it attracted the Germanic farmer-fisherman pushing out fom the hills of Lunenburg. Today every other mailbox proclaims that a Tanner is it’s owner. On February 15, 1904, another Tanner was born there and his name was Charles Enos. “We were common people them days. Everyone was.” Charlie spoke with the heavy Lunenburg-Dutch accent that is still often heard in those parts today. He recalled “Children were growed up before they had any age to them. They never had a chance to go to school. You had to start work when you were so young that you never really had much chance to develop any interests other than fishing”. One of 12 children Charlie started cod lining as part of the family livelihood when he was “eight, ten maybe nine”. By 13 like other his age, his father took him to Lunenburg and put him on a schooner for the Grand Banks, where he earned $30.00 a month as a deck hand until he was 15, at which time he was considered a grown man. Charlie then took his place at the bow of one of the dozen dories that put out each dawn and afternoon to set trawl for codfish. There he labored under tutelage of an older, experienced fisherman as a part of a two man team, for which Charlie earned a share of the schooner’s take. Between the long voyages to the banks, like other fishermen, Charlie mended gear, built boats, repaired houses, farmed, chipped out decoys and took them gunning, as he had ever since he was big enough to carry a gun. – “That was none too big either”.

After a dozen years or so of salt-banking Charlie contributed to the bootleg industry by schoonering cases of liquor from St. Pierre to outside the twelve mile boundary off of Block Island, New York, where the crew would wait for power boats evading the Feds to steal through the darkness to relieve the cargo. “That was good fun,” Charlie said. At the same time Charlie put his name in as a labourer at the New Mersey Plant. Though the job never materialized, he bought a boat and, between rum-running trips took up life as an inshore out of Mersey point near Liverpool. Stonehurst hadn’t been big enough for all those Tanners so Charlie settled into a forty year period of either fishing alone, or with one partner, in his 40 foot Cape Islander, jigging Cod, seining herring or mackerel, the latter of which was used to bait lobster traps during those seasons. ”Them times there was no money. When you went all day out and got 2,000 pounds of fish and made $25 or $30 to fead the two of you.” The take was one cent a pound for cod and 40 cents for lobster. Charlie said he took by handline a much as 3,000 pounds of cod by himself in one day. It may have been a tough haul but it was what Charlie knew. His hands after a life of such toil were an amazing testament to the life they lived. Work was like breathing; it was second nature. “Fishing. It’s a damn habit, that’s all it is,” he said looking back. His wife Helen offered “He’s just an old alt, that’s all he is.” But of course that is not all that Charlie was, and this exhibition celebrates the other part of his life, for which he will ultimately be remembered; that is, the roughly eight years he spent making small carved and painted figures of living things.”

Charlie Tanner died in 1982. Two years after his death, the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia honoured him with an exhibition of his work.

You won’t find many references to Joe Lloyd in the folk art books. It is difficult to see his work in museums. To my knowledge he never received an award or was offered a show in a public gallery. But besides being a heck of a nice fellow, Joe was a dedicated folk artist, and he had his niche.

Joe at his home in 1994

I met Joe in 1994 when I picked up signs he had voluntarily made for the one time Canadian Contemporary Folk Art Festival which was held in Paris, Ontario. He lived near the hospital in Brantford, and he and his wife Janet welcomed us in for a cup of tea in spite of the fact they did not know us. In the living room, behind him on some built in shelves there were many examples of his work. All on a smaller scale with the biggest being about ten inches tall. I asked him how he got started, and what he was carving at the moment.

He told me his carving life began at age 14, and he won a prize in grade five for his ivory soap carving of the Lone Ranger. Joe continued to carve occasionally but really “got back into it” in 1976 when he moved to Brantford, and met and was encouraged by local folk artist Gordon Papple.

Joe’s subject matter evolved from wildlife carving of fish, bear, and birds, into carving the human figure, and then he began to place those figures in small scenes, many which are interictally detailed. Typical subjects of Joe’s sculptures are sports figures, cowboys, super heroes, soldiers, and domestic scenes such as a man changing a tire as his wife looks on, a farm auction, a butcher shop, and a kitchen scene, a barber shop etc. All of his work is carved and painted and most of it is signed. His prices were very reasonable, typically asking between $25 to about $60 for his most intricate pieces. Joe was a modest man. He told me he didn’t care about being paid for all the hours he put into producing the pieces, and was just happy to have the pieces go to appreciative homes, so the place didn’t clutter up, and he could feel free to produce some more. We bought eight or ten pieces that day, and would call Joe every six months or so to see what he had been up to. Usually going home with six to ten pieces. Then in 2005 when I curated the Finding Folk Art exhibit at the Eva Brook-Donly Museum in Simcoe, we included Joe, and asked him to participate in a one day folk art sale which was a part of the proceedings. It was great fun, and he did very well that day.

Years slipped by, and we got busy with new ventures and life direction and we just didn’t get around to visiting Joe much after that. A couple of years slipped by and the next thing we knew we were reading his obituary in the paper. We didn’t know joe very well, but we really liked him, and we are glad to have known him and to own some of his pieces. At his best, his little, detailed miniatures look into moments of human behavior with a simplicity and clarity that make you happy to be looking at them. They are both light-hearted, and observant. Because his work was not large or flashy it is easy to underestimate him. He stayed in his area, and he was good at realizing what he was imagining. All this and not a self-conscious bone in his body. When he participated in the Simcoe exhibit we had him provide us with some biological details. This is what he told us.

a typicalJoe Lloyd signature

Joe Lloyd was born in 1937 in Ernstown, South Fredricksburg County, near Napanee Ontario. When Joe was one, his father became involved in cheese production.and moved the family to Aston, Ontario. Then when Joe was fourteen, he moved with his family to Carlton Place when his father got a job at the Finley Forge making cook stoves.

Joe left school at the age of fifteen, and went to work at various jobs in woolen mills, sheet metal plants, logging, pulp and paper mills, and then with the C.N.R. and Great Northern railways. Then Joe crossed Canada twice working on construction jobs in bridge work, highways, building construction and renovation. As a laborer, then carpenter, and foreman he has helped to build houses, bowling alleys, airplane hangars, cottages, and the Maple Leaf Gardens. Joe worked from 1976 until his retirement in 1999 as a maintenance worker, and then night security at the W. Ross MacDonald School for the Blind in Brantford, Ontario.

Joe lived with his wife Janet in Brantford until his sudden death on April 21, 2011 at the age of 74. He is survived by Janet and two grown sons.

I’m looking at a little crane that he carved and gave to Jeanine when he noticed she had a collection of carved birds. It makes me smile. His work lives on.

So long Joe. It was good to know you.

]]>https://shadflyguy.com/2018/02/02/joe-lloyd-brantford-carver-captured-life-moments-in-miniature/feed/0shadflyguy1977 article on Canadian Folk Arthttps://shadflyguy.com/2018/01/19/1977-article-on-canadian-folk-art/
https://shadflyguy.com/2018/01/19/1977-article-on-canadian-folk-art/#commentsFri, 19 Jan 2018 18:04:33 +0000http://shadflyguy.com/?p=1664Continue reading →]]>The following article was originally printed in “Antiques and Art” magazine, July / August 1977 issue. It was written by Nora Sterling and Jackie Kalman. This article serves as a useful introduction to folk art, and it is also interesting to note how much folk art has grown in recognition and popularity over the past thirty years.

CANADIAN FOLK ART
By NORA STERLING and JACKIE KALMAN

When the Bowmanville Antiques and Folk Art Show opened its doors this year, waiting with the throng to enter were two people very significant by their presence. They were buyers from the Museum of Man and the National Gallery in Ottawa. The academically oriented National Gallery soon will be opening its folk art room and, in anticipation, has been collecting for the past few years.

By buying and displaying folk art, these prestigious institutions announce to Canadians what other more culturally secure countries have acknowledged for at least 50 years: folk art has finally come of age.

In the United States, as early as the 1920s, families like the Rockefellers, DuPonts and Whitneys had major collections of folk art, much of which now reside in three New York museums: the Metropolitan, the Whitney and the Museum of Modern Art.

In Canada, folk art is just being recognised as a viable and valid art form with qualities of freshness, inventiveness and vigour that make it exciting. What gives folk art its originality and charm is that, fortunately, the gifted artists who produced it are free from the dogmas and restrictions which the academic world imposes.

Folk art is not merely a quaint reminder of a nation’s manners and mores, a thing of the past with only functional or merely decorative purposes. It may indeed have all of these attributes, but like all good art, its expressions are powerful and compelling with an originality of concept, creativity of design, craftsmanly use of the medium and flashes of inspiration that are not surpassed by many academic artists.

Keeping in mind the similarities between academic and folk artists, the distinctive difference is that the latter is unschooled, while not necessarily unskilled. For example, a folk artist may have been whittling from his youth, creating bits and pieces for his own pleasure in his spare time. As an adult he may have become a white collar worker or perhaps a farmer, while still retaining his interest and further developing his skill.

Donald Hays is such a folk artist. Carving since he was five years old, he is .now in his early 40s and an engineer by profession. He carves bird decoys which he paints with the incredible expertise and attention to detail of an Audubon. With the true artist’s eye, he chooses those idiosyncratic stances and important characteristics that are peculiar to the bird he is carving.

On the other hand, Collins Eisenhauer, a folk artist who, like Grandma Moses, has “made it,” did not start intensive wood carving until 1964, when he was 66 years old. When asked what he did for a living in the ’30s, Eisenhauer replied, ” I wouldn’t like to tell you! ” He does admit, however, to being a farm hand, a logger and a sailor. His work has been bought by the Museum of Man, the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia and the National Gallery in Ottawa.

Though carved from big hunks of wood, his figures still have a two dimensional look about them. They have the static and stiff quality which is characteristic of naive art – as if the artist does not want to risk a trial of skill to depict movement.

Charles Tanner, an ex-fisherman from Nova Scotia, approaches the task of carving with even a lesser degree of academic knowledge of the craft of sculpture than Eisenhauer. He solves his technical problems simply, by a complete disregard of detail and a disrespect for proportion which, in effect, enhance his work. One is struck by his bold personal style – exuberant, colourful and direct. His sculptures are now on tour with an exhibit of Canadian art assembled by the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia.

Generally studied in a category unto themselves, decoys have a significant place in the spectrum of folk art. Following the Indian custom of making lures to attract water fowl, the white man began carving and painting decoys.

These decoys were utilitarian. They were meant, through their likenesses, to attract birds to be shot. The early makers sold their decoys for 20 cents to 50 cents a piece. However, when market gunning was prohibited in 1918, decoy makers and factories went out of business, so the sportsman, by default, became his own decoy maker.

At this juncture, decoys became folk sculpture. The link with the folk genre lies in the carver’s craftsmanship and especially in his personal interpretation of the salient characteristics of his quarry.

Sculpture is only one way in which the power and beauty of folk art is expressed. Rugs, quilts, paintings, furniture and accessories are among the wide variety of objects produced by folk artists.

Much has been written on folk art, albeit not Canadian. Many art historians, curators and artists have concluded that the expressions of folk art are world-wide and that they state universal truths – realities which will always be voiced by untrained people with a creative urge.

Some people are brought into an appreciation of antique painted furniture by encouragement from a relative or friend who is a collector. Some come to it through self-discovery and research. Some, perhaps most, don’t come to it at all. It depends on how you’re wired. Early antique painted furniture is relatively rare and so you don’t even see it all that often, so many people do not know it even exists.

corner washstand in original butter yellow paint over blueberry stain from Thamesville, Ont.

In my case, I was brought up in a house with several antiques inherited from my mother’s family. I had a great uncle in Chatham who made furniture so we had a few of his pieces. All either cherry or walnut and all in original varnish. I enjoyed going with my mother and uncle to antique shops and auctions, and occasionally they would buy something. Although these were mostly of the decorating or serving dish variety. My father didn’t seem to care much about the furnishings as long as he had a comfortable chair to sit in and was happy to leave it up to my mother. It wasn’t all about antiques. If we needed a new couch or bed, my parents would buy a new item. If they needed a chest of drawers they would go for an antique, but they were practical people. Antique beds are 5 1/2 feet long for heaven’s sake, and antique settees are almost universally uncomfortable. I think the reasoning was, if the seat is uncomfortable the guest will leave sooner, and of course nobody was stretching out trying to be comfortable watching t.v.

early chest in red stain with remnant of white overpaint

As a teenager I enjoyed the social scene of the rural auction. My tastes ran more towards an appreciation of old advertising, and household objects, but I also had an interest in older hand made furniture. Most of the furniture that I would encounter in those days was either in dark varnish, or faux painted to make a cheaper wood such as maple, look like oak, or overpainted with thick oil paint, most often white or similar trim colour that they had laying around. I’d say an overwhelming percentage was like this, like 80 percent. But occasionally I would see a piece (usually older) in a bright painted colour, darkened, thinned, and untouched over the years. I instinctively gravitated toward these pieces. I didn’t know anything about patina, but I knew they excited me. However, it didn’t take me long to realize that the dealers in the crowd would be right onto these pieces and they would draw big money. I didn’t stand a chance of owning one with my budget.

Then when in the early eighties we started to make a living by selling antiques, with a truck and a strong back I began buying lots of antique furniture at local auctions. At the time, the biggest part of the market was for stripped furniture in light wood. You could buy a chest with several coats of paint, strip it down to the wood and refinish it, and make a good buck for your trouble. I didn’t mind doing this in ninety nine percent of the cases, but every once in a while I would get a piece which as you stripped it down, would reveal a beautiful colour under all the other layers. Instinctively I would try to save this paint.

a Quebec blanket box in blueberry paint with remnant of white over-paint

We used a relatively gentle water-based stripper called PVR, that if your timing was right, would “pop” one layer at a time. It took a bit longer but you had more control and the fumes were not as bad. Well, still bad but I always worked with a big exhaust fan which is why I still have a few brain cells left. I can tell you stories of others, but they are sad, and that’s another day. In any case, some of this older furniture, the ones with the beautiful original colours were painted in milk paint. In the days before oil paint. These paints would stay put fairly well stuck to the surface, and if your timing was right you could take all the top layers off to reveal this original paint, and you could stop there and just wash it down with a little Murphy’s oil soap and it would look good. Then later I learned about dry scrapping. I bought myself a good Lee Valley scrapping knife and learned how to control the pressure and retain the concentration to take the top layers off without effecting the original surface. it is a very satisfying feeling when you get this right, and you sit back and admire the finished piece brought back to it’s original glory. Of course, on the rare occasions you will come across a piece that has never been touched, or abused, and is perfectly wonderful the way it is, and with knowledge you realize how precious these pieces really are.

sideboard with mustard paint over dark stain

Over the years I have developed an appreciation for the ge3nerally finer made, formal “brown” furniture that many love for their city homes, but I have developed a passion for the early country pieces in beautiful colour. Once you have this love of painted furniture there is no turning back. It’s like being in love.

Good pieces are not all that easy to come across but they are worth the search. Go to a good Tim Potter auction, or the Cabin Fever show coming up February 3rd and 4th in Kingston, Ontario, or the Bowmanville show on Good Friday and you’ll see some. You might even take something home with you. You’d be wise to. It will enrich your life.

First up, I’m not a winter whiner. I like all the seasons. I dress for the weather, and there’s nothing I enjoy more than being out for a walk on a crisp, sunny winter’s day. I even enjoy a bit of snow shoveling when the snow is not too wet and heavy. I’ve got one of those scoop buckets that you run across the surface and then dump, thus not having to lift the snow and throw it. My shoulders are messed up. I can’t do that anymore. I take my time. I rest when I’m tired, and I get it done. My doctor friend Barclay tells me to be careful of the old ticker. He’s seen lots of guys go that way. I tell him that I figure if I don’t overdo it, it’s good for me. He looks at me dubiously.

I like the feel of being in a nice warm house, with all provisions on hand, and looking out at a big snow storm, knowing I don’t have to leave the house for a couple of days if necessary. I like to hunker down.

Right now, I am at my desk, looking out the window at a bright blue sky with big fluffy white clouds, and just a little spot of open water far out on the otherwise frozen bay. It’s been open water until just a couple of days ago when the week or so of extreme cold took it’s tole and when I looked out one morning, it was a frozen lake almost as far as the eye can see. Today it is sunny and gorgeous to look out at, but it’s minus 20C and there is no one out walking around. I’ve got a proper parka and long-john’s and the rest but minus 20 is my limit for wanting to be outdoors. I cut my walk short this morning. They are forecasting that we have another week of this “true Canadian winter” and then it will be going back up to around zero and staying there for the foreseeable future. Suits me fine.

We live in a double brick Victorian with storm windows and a boiler and rads for heat, and we’re toasty warm. I love rads. No blowing hot, dusty, dry air around constantly with all the noise that suggests. We’ve got an outdoor sensor on the thermostat so we set the temperature once fourteen years ago when we got here and we haven’t touched it since. We have an enclosed sun porch on the south wall and it heats up like a greenhouse in the afternoon. After lunch, I like to lay on the couch in there soaking up the sun and reading stretched out on the old sofa under a thick wool blanket. Typically I read about twenty minutes then fall asleep for another twenty minutes. Then I’m ready for the rest of my afternoon. It’s something I always look forward to.

It wasn’t like this when we lived in the old church. I’ve spoken of it before, but to encapsulate we bought an old Methodist church in Wycombe Ontario in 1981 after reading a small ad in the London Free Press. We bought it for nothing but it was in rough shape, with much investment needed, but we were young, and strong, and foolish enough to buy it, and figure we could do all the work on it ourselves. That’s more or less what happened, but like the settlers that arrived here from Europe all those years ago in the fall, we had a rough time getting through that first winter.

The old coot that owned the place had built a Styrofoam wall halfway across the ground level interior and had an old forced air gas furnace which (sort of) heated that half. The other side was as cold as outdoors and so that first winter instead of a refrigerator we just kept perishables on a table on the cold side of the dividing wall. When the wind blew it would ruffle the curtains. Because there was no basement and just a crawl space under the floor boards, with the furnace blowing in from above, the cold would come up through the floor and your legs would be numb from the knees down. We took to wearing legwarmers and layers of under-cloths and sweaters. In the evenings we would have to gather our legs up onto the couch, and cover ourselves to be warm. That winter of 81 was bitter cold, and we suffered. The one thing that saved us was that one of the first things we did was insulate the bathroom wall which faced the rear entrance. There was no window and with the addition of a big electric wall heater we were able to keep this room toasty warm. If you were cold, and just couldn’t get warm you could go in there, have a hot bath and luxuriate in the tropical air. Before the second winter hit we replaced the old furnace with efficient, through the wall type gas heaters. We reconfigured the space to use the entire floor, insulating outer walls and repairing the windows, so it was much more hospitable.

A couple of years later we bought some out buildings, so I had a big insulated workshop with a powerful wood stove which allowed me to get the space warm enough for the refinishing chemicals to work, and the finishes to cure. We kept in warm in there. You could work in your shirt sleeves. At night I would fill it with wood and there would still be enough hot embers in there in the morning that I just had to throw in a bit of small stuff and a couple of logs and it would come right back. One of my favourite times was first thing in the morning, sitting with the door of the stove open. Sipping on my coffee and staring into the fire. My front and face almost hot, my back still cool. Another fine winter day.

I believe that to enjoy winter, you must embrace it. Put on the proper cloths and get out there for a walk on the days when it is sunny and the wind is not blowing. At the church we could cross the road, take the path through the woods and continue along fields and through more woods, eventually passing three irrigation ponds and then more woods and fields before returning home. We called it the three pond walk, and it took about 45 minutes on a good day. It was also possible to take a detour and pass by two more ponds, but that five pond walk took over an hour and was generally too much to consider in the winter. I remember the second pond was spring fed and there was a little patch of open water there where it flowed year round. There was a nice big log by the spring and I would always pause there and take it in for a while before moving on.

I have fond memories of winter at the church, but I can’t overstate the joy I felt when moving into the house here and having the bottom ten inches of my legs not feel cold. There’s no going back.

]]>https://shadflyguy.com/2018/01/05/living-in-the-church-in-winter/feed/1shadflyguyFalling down the rabbit hole of Christmas memorieshttps://shadflyguy.com/2017/12/16/falling-down-the-rabbit-hole-of-christmas-memories/
https://shadflyguy.com/2017/12/16/falling-down-the-rabbit-hole-of-christmas-memories/#commentsSat, 16 Dec 2017 00:13:34 +0000http://shadflyguy.com/?p=1638Continue reading →]]>It’s 5:15 pm and it is dark outside my window. Above is a picture of how it looked at 3:00 pm. Living on the north shore of lake Erie, we live in what Ontarians call the banana belt, and we are spared from much snow fall. The prevailing winds blow from the north and typically dump snow on the American side, which we love to watch on t.v. But we’re not laughing today. It is rare when the snow comes in from the south west but when it does we get buried. Today is such a day. It started at about nine this morning and it hasn’t stopped since. We took an early run for the supplies we would need and hunkered down. I do look forward to a nice snow storm from time to time as long as we are home and the hydro is on.

About 11:00 am I set about working on my blog. I had decided my subject would be folk art at Christmas time, and folk art created for Christmas. I wanted to write about the effect that Christmas ideology has on folk artists, and inversely how folk art has effected Christmas ideology. Folky, Grandma Moses like images of wintery villages, people skating, and horse drawn sleighs still adorn many Christmas cards and Holiday biscuit tins. But then again who sends Christmas cards anymore. I think the polar bears drinking Coke actually figure larger in folk ideology, but in any case. Within this context I wanted to show how some of my favourite Canadian folk artists interpreted Santa Claus, etc. That’s where the trouble began.

Three Kaz Kizik Santas

I have documented several pieces of Christmas folk art which we have owned and sold over the years, and so I had to do was to go through my photos, find some examples, and scan them. Easy squeezy. You would think, but no, not really because although I have managed to keep our photos reasonably organized: and when I say reasonably I mean that some are in books by subject and labeled, while others are in more randomly arranges in books. But actually most remain in photo envelopes awaiting further sorting, and the labels are very general. Us in France, Exterior church shots, Us with Friends, Christmas 1997, etc. So at least I was able to skip several envelopes when looking for Christmas Santa Claus carvings.

Barbara Clark-Flemingwinter scene

But here’s where the soft, hypnotic snow fall outside the window comes in. The feeling of being shut in for the duration. The sudden urge to do a 1000 piece puzzle, or as the case was today, to fall into hours of looking at old images of Christmas past, and places visited, and happy occasions remembered, and loved ones who have passed on. I call it falling down the rabbit home. It happens to me from time to time when I look at photos, or more often when I research something on the internet. For instance, the other day I was reminded of the Talking Heads song “Same as it ever was”, and so downloaded the original video on You Tube. I had never seen it and it excited me, so I watched the next video which was an interesting interview with David Byrne, and then came an amazing one hour video of the band performing live in Rome in 1980. When I resurfaced three videos later, I came away with a deeper understanding of the talent and contribution of these fine musical artists, but the morning was shot.

night hockey game in Ottawa, circa 1945,by Elmo Phillips

So that’s what happened. I found several of the photos I wanted to use right away, but a photo of a big Santa and Rudolph made by Ewald Rentz which we used to display by the back door of the church eluded me. Strange, I thought it would be the easiest to find, but no. At first I flipped quickly and efficiently through many books before the power of some of the images caused me to slow down and think. Think about what I can remember of the moment. To observe how different we all looked. To think about our relationships then. Before you know it, you are adrift. Down the rabbit hole.

Nostalgia is a bitter sweet mix which I rarely indulge in, but today I really let myself go. I took a deep drink, and now I’m so filled with personal memories that for now I’ve lost the urge to talk about folk art. Another time. I just want to go down to see what Jeanine is up to. Knitting probably. And finally, I want to wish everyone a very happy holidays and solstice; however you chose to celebrate, or not celebrate as the case may be. Enjoy, and create some new memories to look back on some day. The snow continues to fall. Tomorrow I’ll get out the shovel.

Santa and Rudolphby Ewald Rentz

]]>https://shadflyguy.com/2017/12/16/falling-down-the-rabbit-hole-of-christmas-memories/feed/1shadflyguyA missed opportunity- My chance to meet Robert McCairnshttps://shadflyguy.com/2017/12/08/a-missed-opportunity-my-chance-to-meet-robert-mccairns/
https://shadflyguy.com/2017/12/08/a-missed-opportunity-my-chance-to-meet-robert-mccairns/#respondFri, 08 Dec 2017 21:01:08 +0000http://shadflyguy.com/?p=1629Continue reading →]]>I have found that sometimes, something, or someone can seem so available that you become casual and nonchalant about taking the time to go to them, and before you know it they are gone. Thus was the case for me with Robert McCairns. A few years after moving to Norfolk County in the early 80’s I had become aware that this noted folk artist was living nearby at Turkey Point. I had seen a few of his bird carvings and liked the work, but at that time my life comprised primarily of trips to and fro Quebec to buy antiques and folk art, and then participating in antique shows to sell the stuff. Also, aesthetically, I was pretty focused on the Quebec style of folk art and I was finding lots of it, and so although I found McCairn’s work interesting, it didn’t make my heart beat faster, if you know what I mean. In short, time passed and the next thing I know I hear he’s pasted on.

Then a few years later, we bought the Barbara Brown collection, and in it there were many, perhaps 60 or so of McCairn’s pieces. Not only birds, and decoys for which he was mostly known, but also a few animals, and one sort of flat faced human head. When you buy something you really look at it, and so I studied the pieces and came to appreciate his straight forward style; slightly crude but with character, balanced, and with interesting paint. He made carvings of the creatures around him. The birds and animals he was familiar with.

Robert McCairns at his workshop

Robert McCairns was born in Scotland October 9th, 1905. He came to Canada at the age of 18 and after travelling around the West Coast, he eventually found his way to Ontario, where he married and raised a family of two sons and a daughter at Turkey Point, on the North Shore of Lake Erie.

For more than forty years he earned his living at fishing, hunting and trapping, as well as managing tracts of the marsh. He also carved decoys and worked as a guide during the hunting season.

After a severe illness in the mid 1970’s he retired from several of his enterprises and began to carve some of the birds he saw around the Long Point marsh; ducks, herons, shorebirds, and song birds. Also fish, rabbits and turtles. Eventually he added a few domestic animals such as cats, dogs and pigs. People started to come to his place on the marsh and buy, and word got around, and by 1977 he had his first exhibition at the Lynnwood Arts Centre in Simcoe Ontario. This was followed by shows in Toronto at the Merton Gallery, Claude Arsenault’s “Home Again” folk art gallery, and the Harbourfront Community Gallery. Some of his pieces were included in a travelling show sponsored by the Ontario Craft Council. In 1989, shortly before his death, his work was the subject of a one man show at the Durham Art Gallery. This last show included a catalogue.

Robert McCairn’s produced what I consider to be good, honest folk art. His birds are not literal renditions of the various species, but rather they are his free interpretations of what he saw. As much as a like many of these carvings, it is his rendition of the human head which puts me over the top, admiration-wise. It may have well been a “one off” for him, but to my mind as a piece of folk art, he knocked it out of the park with that one. I felt my opinion was confirmed when I sold it at the Outsider Art Fair in New York to a well-known folk art dealer. When I handed him a bio, he said “I don’t care who he is or where he’s from. I just love that he made this piece”.

]]>https://shadflyguy.com/2017/12/08/a-missed-opportunity-my-chance-to-meet-robert-mccairns/feed/0shadflyguyThe Captain who loved to draw – Captain Alexander McNeilledgehttps://shadflyguy.com/2017/12/01/the-captain-who-loved-to-draw-captain-alexander-mcneilledge/
https://shadflyguy.com/2017/12/01/the-captain-who-loved-to-draw-captain-alexander-mcneilledge/#respondFri, 01 Dec 2017 23:14:57 +0000http://shadflyguy.com/?p=1621Continue reading →]]>Born at Greenock in Scotland in 1791, the young Alex was introduced at an early age to life on the high sea. When only eight years old he accompanied his father, a sea captain, on an ocean voyage to Newfoundland. In subsequent years he worked his way up from cabin boy to log keeper and eventually captain by the time he was thirty. As a sea captain he travelled around the world. His exploits are the stuff of seafaring legend: he was shipwrecked on Long Island in 1807, saw the Duke of Wellington in Lisbon, and even caught a glimpse of Napoleon Bonaparte, the deposed emperor of France, in exile on the island of St. Helena in 1817. The captain covered huge swaths of the globe, sailing to ports as far afield as China and running a naval blockade off Buenos Aires. And, for good measure, he endured robbery and plunder at the hands of pirates on the storied Spanish Main.

At the prodding of his brother Collin, McNeilledge came to Port Dover with his wife Mary Ann in 1832 to work as a bookkeeper at his mill, and he purchased a farm a few years later. But the mundane life of clerking and farming was nothing compared to his high seas adventures. You can you imagine how exciting farming was to him after that life? So he basically left the farming to his wife and headed down to the docks to captain the boats. McNeilledge became a fixture at the docks and was involved in many operations around port.

In the 1840s he began to produce a series of charts and maps for navigating Lake Erie. The document was widely used until the early 2oth century. In Lake Erie – a pictorial history by Julie MacFie Sobol and Ken Sobel, they quote the captain from the preface of his 1848 “Chart and Sailing Instructions for the North Shore of Lake Erie” , ”All the Lake Ontario Captains on both sides and the Lake Erie captains on the American side are afraid of the North Shore.” His journal filled a need, for without the captain’s well observed navigational instructions and maps, many more vessels would have joined the underwater fleet”.

In his later years he began to make drawings of ships which he presented as tokens of friendship to captains of visiting vessels , as well as relatives and neighbours. The drawings were often personalized by naming the ship after the wife, the master after the husband, and smaller vessels after the children. Most were accompanied by captions depicting fanciful and fictitious voyages, and many were inscribed with humorous autobiographical comments such as : Captain Alex. McNeilledge -76 years- Use no specks – Chew no tobacco – Take only a wee drop as required”

He maintained a diary over the last 37 years of his life, recording not only routine daily events but also many personal feelings of frustration, loneliness and non-acceptance. The captain was found by his wife on August 21, 1874, having taken his life in the ravine behind the house the previous day.

McNeilledge Confederation Box

But rather than his sad ending, I prefer to think of all the joy he has given people over the years with his charming drawings, water-colours, and of course the exquisite 1867 Confederation box. It is fitting that in that year, McNeilledge fired off his cannon to mark the start of the Canada Day Parade in Port Dover. The first in Canada, and a tradition that continues to this day.

]]>https://shadflyguy.com/2017/12/01/the-captain-who-loved-to-draw-captain-alexander-mcneilledge/feed/0shadflyguyIn appreciation of Sid Howardhttps://shadflyguy.com/2017/11/24/in-appreciation-of-sid-howard/
https://shadflyguy.com/2017/11/24/in-appreciation-of-sid-howard/#commentsFri, 24 Nov 2017 18:29:59 +0000http://shadflyguy.com/?p=1613Continue reading →]]>You know how with some artists you just love their work the first time you see it; recognizing that there is something genuine and authentic in it which places it above the work of others? Something which goes directly to your gut, bypassing the analytical brain cells. Well for me that’s Sid Howard.

Especially his early work. His approach is direct, joyful, strong, and not at all self-conscious. Simple lines. A primitive elegance. I always get a lift when I look at his work. I would see it on rare occasions over the years but did not become fully conscious of his life and work until I saw the NFB film “Folk Art Found Me” in 1993. The fellows who made it set up and sold copies at the Bowmanville show that year. A great film that you can see by following this link http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xpk3q0

Sid Howard sitting amongst his creations singing “Pretty Robin Redbreast” is such a treat in itself, and then he goes on to talk about getting started. This would be about 1945.

“Well one day I sat down and I said, I’d like to make a fish, and I’m going to try it. I never made one before. Well, I worked on it slow and easy and it come out good; and so from then on I liked it and I never stopped since.”

We are lucky that the film makers got this on film. He died shortly after.

Kobayashi/Bird “A compendium of Canadian Folk Artists (1985) states,

Around many odd tasks and carpentry work (Howard) managed to find opportunities for pursuit of his wood carving interests, particularly after 1945. His earliest carving, a deer, was inspired by a drawing in his daughter’s colouring book. He continued to carve cats, fish, birds, and human figures. Many of his works were destroyed in a fire in the late sixties. He eventually began to undertake the ambitious project of carving life-sized figures, including his interpretation of Cape Breton’s legendary “McAskill Giant”. He also carved various low-relief plaques with nature scenes, such as a beaver in a marsh setting, or scenes with stags, horses, seals, fish, and sailing vessels. Inspired also by popular culture, he carved large sharks modelled after the villain in the movie “Jaws”. He also carved political figures and an RCMP officer. By the 1980’s he was turning increasingly to television programmes for subject matter.”

An early Sid Howard full-sized figure.

I have bought and sold Sid Howard works occasionally over the last thirty years, but as I was buying largely in Quebec I did not encounter them very often. Then at one of the Bowmanville shows in the late 1990’s, Toronto art dealer Av Issacs and I were talking about Sid, and he said “you know, I have a Sid Howard piece that I bought years ago, that I could part with. “ Of course I was interested, and so true to word, the next week I received from Av, a photo and come on letter. “No reasonable offer refused”. Ya right Av, I’ve known you for too many years to fall for that.

On the phone the next day when we set up the appointment Av said “You are going to love this piece. It’s so strong. Actually, I’m not sure if I should even be selling it.” I could feel the price rising.

I felt “cool” going into his rented digs in that old factory full of artists on Richmond Street. I’m not sure that it hasn’t been made into up-scale condos by now, but at the time it had a real scene living there. Av had closed the gallery and retired, but rented this for storage and an office space. On the way in you could see that the young artists loved him. We reached his space, unlocked the door, and there was the Sid Howard sitting on an easel in the light of the north facing window. What a knock out. Av was right. I didn’t even try to play it cool, or barter. Av was far too seasoned and would spot it right away anyway, so I just said “You’re right Av, it’s amazing. I want it. So how much do I have to pay for it, bottom line. Prix d’ami. I always try the Quebec term prix d’ami, or “friend’s price” because it puts a friendly, positive spin on it. Av’s price was by no means a giveaway, but it was fair and so I counted out the cash.

I brought it home and Jeanine loved it, so we hung it in the dining room, and there it remains.

After concluding our business, Av and I were looking around at some of his things under the pretense that there might be something else I would like, so I asked him. “you wouldn’t have any William Kurelek drawings or paintings laying around that you want to get rid of at a cheap price?” Av smiled, “well no, I’ve sold every painting and drawing that I had for sale, but I could sell you this.” He went over to a storage rack and pulled out a fairly large plywood packing crate. He flipped it around and on the back was quite a beautiful pencil drawing of a western village. Along with an elaborate colorful frame around the name and address area. “He sent me some paintings in this case from out West, and he took the time to make it beautiful.” Wow. Simply wow. Of course even Av’s friend price was way more than I could afford. But I still think about it once in a while. And I still love looking at the Sid Howard eagle.

our Sid Howard eagle

]]>https://shadflyguy.com/2017/11/24/in-appreciation-of-sid-howard/feed/1shadflyguyBill Male, painter of rural life in the La Prairie region of Quebechttps://shadflyguy.com/2017/11/17/bill-male-painter-of-rural-life-in-the-la-prairie-region-of-quebec/
https://shadflyguy.com/2017/11/17/bill-male-painter-of-rural-life-in-the-la-prairie-region-of-quebec/#respondFri, 17 Nov 2017 20:11:35 +0000http://shadflyguy.com/?p=1605Continue reading →]]>William Male, also known as Bill or Willie, was born in 1918. He was an anglophone Quebecer who lived most of his life in or near Montreal, except for the war years which he spent in Europe, serving in the Canadian Armed Forces. After being wounded in Italy in 1944, Bill returned deaf in one ear, to Montreal, where he found employment as a furniture restorer with the firms of Henri Morgan and Alexandre Craig.

winter fun in Hemmingsford

In the 1970s, without any training of any kind, Bill Male started painting. Perhaps it was in response to certain voids in his life as a bachelor: “I never got married, the war got in the way of that” he said. Perhaps his solitary life prompted him to fill his paintings with images of people enjoying various social activities – viewing a show, sitting in a bar, picking fruit in an orchard, playing cards… In any case, these images speak of joy, friends, love and family. There are also, however, expressions of melancholy and loneliness in Bill Male’s work, especially the solitary portraits which often feature a woman sitting alone and waiting.

a lady alone.

When Bill Male retired he opened his own little antiques restoration shop in the town of Hemmingford, Quebec. He worked in his shop every summer and spent his winters painting his dreams and reminiscences.

remembering Europe during the war

We used to see Bill’s work from time to time at the picker’s barns, and then in the mid-nineties a collector friend noticed one of his paintings in our truck and said “That’s one of Bill’s paintings. I know where he lives. Would you like to meet him?”. Sure thing. So with directions in hand, and a phone call ahead we arrived mid-morning at a three story, 1940’s apartment block near the baseball diamond at the edge of town. Bill buzzed us in and we climbed to the second floor and arrived at his door. He must have been standing right on the other side because the second we knocked the door flew open and there stood Bill, all smiles, peering through those thick glasses. His small one bedroom apartment was that of your old bachelor uncle’s pad. Tidy, but full of upholstered chairs, crochet covered tables, and knick-knacks; with every square inch of wall space covered by his paintings in every type, colour, and size All in reclaimed frames of every type and colour. The effect was a bit dizzying, but also warm and hospitable. “Everything is for sale, and at reasonable prices”, and so we picked out our favourite twenty or so and paid him what he asked in cash. Bill didn’t talk much, and he never offered to make us tea or anything, but over a few visits he did start to warm up and tell us some stories from when he was in Europe, and one funny story of how he almost got killed in his workshop. Well, funny because no one got hurt.

apple picking in Hemmingsford

Bill rented a garage for his work from a very old neighbor lady. He was slowing down on accepting work but still doing the occasional project for a neighbor. So he was working away one winter day with the doors closed and the heat fired up. He was standing at the side of the shop putting wood in the woodstove when suddenly there was a tremendous crash, and bang, and shattering of wood in every direction as an old sedan came smashing through the closed doors, raced the length of the building knocking everything asunder, and went smashing out the far wall into the back yard. Turns out his old landlady had arrived at a day when she confused the gas and brake pedals, and she tried to slam on the brakes. “It happened so fast I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I knew I was damn lucky to be standing aside”. “You’ve got that right, Bill.

We would go to see Bill another five or six times, always happy to see his new work, and to have a chance to get to know him a bit better. We even wrote back and forth a bit. He would send me pictures of his new paintings and ask which ones he might put aside for me. He was a lovely guy. Then on one late fall day in 2003, we found ourselves in the area and decided to drop by. He didn’t answer his phone but we knew he didn’t leave the apartment much so we took a chance and just arrived and rang his buzzer. Someone answered but it wasn’t Bill. The fellow explained that Bill had died suddenly a few months before, and he was the new tenant. He didn’t have any information on Bill as he did not know him. With no living relatives and not knowing his friends we were struck with a sadness, made sadder somehow because there was no one to express our condolences to. We said a silent goodbye and left.